Chapter Twenty-Two: The Imperial Physician Is Attacked on the Broken Bridge, Just as She Becomes the Spirit’s Guide

Music and laughter filled a thousand households on this night, and for ten miles the lantern festival stretched in radiant splendor. The full moon illuminated the entire city of Jian’an, and every one of the seventy-two districts boasted eye-catching stages, where crowds paused to enjoy the performances as they wandered among the lantern displays.

On the stages, the performers and dancers were all charming, each gesture and glance brimming with allure. For the courtesans, the Lantern Festival was the perfect occasion to seek a better fate; if fortune favored them and a noble took a liking, being redeemed to serve as a reading companion or secondary wife was far preferable to selling laughter in a brothel.

Imperial physician Zhang Shanshi sat alone on a half-ruined bridge, pouring himself drink after drink. Before him was a delicate food box containing seasonal fruits and vegetables, and a plate of spiced beef, now half gone. The aroma of huadiao wine, mellow and robust, wafted up, warming him with every sip.

This broken bridge was, indeed, a splendid vantage point—below lay the myriad lanterns and lights of Jian’an, above the sky was bright with a full moon and scattered stars. Peace reigned. Zhang Shanshi’s chest was damp with spilled wine; under the lanterns and the moon, he drank himself into a haze, the wine not so much intoxicating as the atmosphere itself.

Lost in contentment, with blurred eyes, he let the beauty of the night pour into his cup. The autumn breeze was sharp, and though the wine made his body hot, opening his robe brought a welcome chill, a comfort he relished.

Now that the lanterns were lit in the market, carriages and their fragrant passengers abounded. The breeze was thick with the lingering scent of storax, a perfume favored by the courtesans, clinging to their silk robes. Only the girls from Brocade Lane loved this storax; those from Jade Alley and Hidden Fragrance Lane always found it too heavy and frivolous.

Zhang Shanshi caught a whiff and felt the heat in his body grow—a seasoned physician, he immediately recognized the aphrodisiac notes of clove and musk woven into the scent. Though over sixty, Zhang Shanshi considered himself well-versed in such matters, and quietly resolved to take another young concubine after the festival.

As the saying goes, “An eighteen-year-old bride for an eighty-year-old groom—white hair meets red lips. Two sharing a mandarin-duvet at night, a pear blossom pressing upon a crabapple tree…”

Pleased with himself, Zhang Shanshi drained the last of his wine with the spiced beef, his spirits rising as the autumn wind lost its bite.

Half drunk, half sober, he saw a figure slowly approaching. “Xiao Yi, you’re late. You deserve a penalty,” Zhang Shanshi slurred, swinging the empty wine jug toward the newcomer. The figure dodged, and Zhang Shanshi stumbled forward, falling face-first into the dirt.

He looked up to see a man in black, with a strange white-headed bird perched on his shoulder. “You’re not Xiao Yi!” Zhang Shanshi exclaimed, terror dawning on his face.

…

After a flurry of chaos and robbery, calm returned beneath the bridge, the festival’s bustle undisturbed. Only Ma Sihu’s face was grim as iron, while two masked figures searched the area for any sign of the Hu tribesman.

Jian’an, thirteenth year of the reign, fifteenth day of the eighth month. Western Market, Cloud Shadow District. The hour of the Pig.

Jiang Wanyi eyed the two masked detectives before her with a strange expression and said coldly, “You let him escape right under your noses?”

Chasing Star, Qi Jingmo, removed his mask and nodded, somewhat embarrassed. “You could say that.”

At least he was honest—Jiang Wanyi found her irritation fading.

“Didn’t you notice anything suspicious?” she pressed.

Smoke Guest, Hua Banxia, took off her mask and replied quietly, “The Turk’s trick was indeed remarkable. We saw no flaw.”

Jiang Wanyi frowned; she finally understood. These two had never intended to cooperate with her. It made sense—since the establishment of the Demon Suppression Bureau, the Six Gates had grown increasingly neglected by the court, while the Bureau’s power now overshadowed all others.

Hua Banxia and Qi Jingmo’s hostility was clear: this case was high-profile, and whichever agency solved it first would gain prestige. They had no intention of sharing credit with her. Yet they were also telling the truth—the Turk’s trick was genuinely inscrutable.

Realizing this, Jiang Wanyi turned from the two and approached Ma Sihu, bowing respectfully. “Sir, I am Jiang Wanyi, third rank Yellow Emblem Demon Suppressor of the Bureau. Do you have any leads regarding your daughter’s abduction?”

Ma Sihu glared coldly, ignoring her question and instead demanded, “What is going on here? How did a Turk infiltrate Jian’an?”

Jiang Wanyi did not conceal the truth, recounting the events in detail.

As she finished, Ma Sihu’s face darkened further. “You mean Six Gates knew about this all along?”

Jiang Wanyi, seeing Hua Banxia and Qi Jingmo’s refusal to cooperate, calmly shifted the focus to the military governor.

“Why didn’t your Six Gates warn us in advance?” Ma Sihu advanced menacingly toward the detectives, his voice icy and deadly.

Hua Banxia’s face went pale, and Qi Jingmo, though wanting to explain, could only move his lips in silence.

A dragon’s reverse scale, to be touched is death itself. For a man like Ma Sihu, hardened by years of war and bloodshed, his daughter Su Jin was dearer than the entire city of Jian’an.

“If you Six Gates do not find my daughter before midnight, you will be abolished from the court forever,” Ma Sihu declared coldly.

This border lord, commander of the northern armies, saw clearly that Jiang Wanyi was pressing him with her authority.

“Little girl, I know your Bureau has its ways, but if you think you can threaten me, you are mistaken. I could cripple your Bureau if I wished,” Ma Sihu said, staring directly at her.

Jiang Wanyi understood the warning. She straightened and replied, “I will not fail you, sir. Your daughter will be found before midnight.”

Ma Sihu turned to leave, but paused, recalling something. “You said the Turk brought… what?”

Jiang Wanyi was momentarily surprised, then answered, “Cold Garment.”

Ma Sihu’s face changed dramatically. He whispered, “Cold Garment? Could it be the Cold Garment Gu?”

“You know about the Cold Garment Gu?” Jiang Wanyi was astonished.

Ma Sihu was, at most, a general of the northern army—how could he know of such a thing? Yet, evidently, he did. Could it be…?

A suspicion stirred in Jiang Wanyi’s heart.

Ma Sihu hesitated, then lowered his voice. “I served in the north for decades; in the army there were whispers of the Cold Garment Gu. It is a venom of pure ice, but once removed from the northern pools, it falls into dormancy. Only virgin blood and a spiritual medium can awaken its ferocity.”

Jiang Wanyi listened in shock. Only now did she understand why the Turks had targeted Zhang Wei, the notorious constable of Changning County. He had served as a northern officer for ten years and recognized the Cold Garment Gu, even marking it in red on his report.

As Jiang Wanyi pondered, Ma Sihu spoke again—his words confirming her worst suspicion.

“Ajin… Ajin is the spiritual medium for the Cold Garment Gu.”